Mosaic
a magazine
for the literary and visual arts at
Holderness School

3

Mosaic
Fall 2012
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Holderness School’s student literary and visual arts magazine! As always it has been a pleasure to
view and read the students’ work from the fall and put together this publication. I am inspired by their attention
to detail and creative expression.
While the quality of work in this issue is as impressive as always, it struck me this time how geographically diverse the authors and artists are. Jingyi Wu, who created the watercolors on the front cover and on page 28, is
from China. On pages 20 and 21, there is a description and photographs of an independent study done by
senior Fabián Štoček who is from the Czech Republic. Qianyi Zang and Ximo Xiao, who contributed pieces
throughout the magazine are also from China. Other artists and writers throughout the magazine come from as
far away as California, Colorado, and Virginia and as close as Vermont, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire.
Additionally, their perspectives are as varied and diverse as their home countries and cultures. From factual
analysis to fiction, from cartoon to essay, from photography to oil paints, Holderness students work with a wide
array of media and cover a diverse number of subjects. It is with pleasure that I share with you Volume 11,
Issue 1 of Mosaic!
Emily Magnus
Director of Publications

Cover art by Jingyi Wu

Hannah Foote

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Last summer, the All-School Summer Read was A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. Throughout the
fall, in the classrooms, in all-school assemblies, and even during an open forum on a Saturday morning, students had the opportunity to hear from members of the community and learn about the book. The students
also had a chance to share their own reactions to the book, and the assignments they submitted showed impressive insights and thoughtful reflections. Below are just two students’ final projects. In the oil pastel drawings, Lea Rice highlights important themes in chapter five, while in the fictional piece, Hannah Durnan rewrites
chapter 12 from a different character’s perspective.
“Bernadette”
By Hannah Durnan

Sasha wouldn’t have imagined before him, something that seems out of place even now.

Sasha didn’t expect her life to be like this, standing
on hot asphalt with Ally and Linc (her kids – who’d’ve
believed that she’d be a mother?) after Linc’s ballgame. The heat was the kind that seeped up through
the soles of her shoes, worn-out Old Navy flip-flops
(fifteen years ago, wearing those would’ve been a
deadly sin).

Finally, Ally speaks. “Why do you have to repeat
people’s exact words when you say goodbye to
them?”

Ally’s still at the age where she worships everything
her older brother does, even if Linc’s only a year
older. Right now her arm’s around his neck – more a
choke-hold than a hug. And when Linc’s teammates
walk by, she replies to their hellos before he gets
the chance. Sasha can see Linc’s scowl, even in the
twilight.
Ally reaches down to touch the pavement (sometimes
Sasha wonders if she should be tested for attention
disorders, the way her daughter gets distracted), so
Sasha reacts on instinct and watches Ally’s face fall
when she hears her snap.
Sasha can feel Ally’s annoyance as she drives home
in the SUV Drew insisted they buy – another thing

“What are you talking about?”
Ally’s response reminds her so much of Drew that
Sasha laughs. It’s bittersweet; the unwritten rule of
their family: Ally is Drew’s, and Linc belongs to Sasha. Drew doesn’t understand Lincoln, and Ally –
well, Sasha is fairly sure that Ally has a list going of
everything that annoys her about Sasha.
“Any chance of easing up on the scrutiny, Ally?”
“Not a chance.”
At home Alison follows Lincoln to the living room, and
Sasha hears the first few notes of “Bernadette” drifting through the hall. It reminds Sasha of Pakistan –
the song that was playing in Drew’s run-down apartment the first day she arrived. It was the first time
she has seen him since the funeral. After Rob died,
Drew went through medical school – Sasha went
through therapy. But none of that mattered, after a
five-hundred dollar plane ticket and the
thousand-mile distance from the East River.
So now “Bernadette” reminds her of Rob
and Pakistan and the hours she spent alone
in Drew’s apartment after she flew around
the world for him. (But by then, it was too
late to go back.)
And of all the songs Lincoln plays, Sasha still
likes “Bernadette” the best.
Linc and Ally always notice when Drew
works late. She can see it in Linc’s face when
Sasha goes into his room alone to say goodnight, and even more in Ally’s when she asks
Sasha when Drew will be home.

Lea Rice

All is forgiven when Drew is home – he tries

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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to listen to The Frames with Linc, even though he
doesn’t understand it, and loses his patience after
the first ten seconds of the pause – and he swings
Ally up on his shoulders and calls her Allycat, making her whole face break into a smile like it never
does when he’s gone. It’s times like that when Sasha
doesn’t regret flying to Pakistan, marrying Drew
(she never, never regrets Ally and Linc).

Lea Rice

But Drew isn’t home, and Ally’s alone in her room,
computer screen glowing. Sasha can’t reach Ally at
times like this, when she’s working on her “slide journal.” She goes in anyway – tries unsuccessfully to
pry Ally away from the screen. Finally, Ally just
slings old-school computer-tech slogans at Sasha,
who laughs, because she knows this is the best conversation they’ll have all day. She doesn’t want it to
end yet, so she runs her fingertips along the apricotshell toy horse she and Drew got when they were
living in Pakistan – one of the few outings Sasha can
remember from the years there. “I never looked
back,” she tells Ally. It’s not a lie – even Pakistan
was better than New York, walking by the East
River day after day. (It’s even more true when
she tells Ally how much she loves that horse – it’s
a reminder of Ally and Linc, the two parts of her
life for which she will always be grateful.)

in a day is their new record. Ally wears a hint of a
smirk when she asks Sasha about every bad thing
she’s ever done – the question hits Sasha hard, a
lightning-quick punch to the stomach. Where to begin, she wants to say. Instead, she says “You can’t.”
She thinks Ally and Linc have fallen asleep when she
hears scuffling from upstairs. Then Linc yells and Sasha pulls together her last strings of patience before
heading up the stairs.
They’re both in bed but Sasha still feels Ally’s
presence when she works on her collage. She
tells the kids that she’s working with “found objects” (and they are, mostly – a grocery list, a
recipe, a ticket stub) but she doesn’t tell them
about the scraps that are hidden in the corners,
the kind that make guilt and excitement twist in
her stomach (a fake ID from the baby-faced
freshman at the bar down the street, a business
card with a phone number on the back that
wasn’t meant for her. Even, once, a check –
written in blue ink, seventy-four dollars and
eighty-nine cents).
Sasha puts the collage away before Drew gets
home.
The next night, she doesn’t have the chance to work
on it – Drew’s home early, barbequing chicken with
a smile plastered on and a glass of gin, half-empty.
They sit down at the too-small picnic table and Sasha keeps her arm around Drew (if he’s never here,
why not enjoy one night?). Ally and Linc are excited
to eat Drew’s chicken – even though Sasha made
the same thing two nights ago (not that Drew would
know).

And it works. Ally slides her laptop closed silently, pulls out a book (the one Sasha bought
but hoped Ally wouldn’t read), and turns
straight to the page with Sasha’s picture.
So Sasha just tells Ally she doesn’t want to talk
about it. She says she was struggling – she
doesn’t say that she never stopped.
Sasha and Ally talk again when Sasha goes to
say goodnight. She wonders if two conversations

Lea Rice

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Ally says something that makes Drew laugh his big
barking laugh and her face lights up – another reminder that Ally is Drew’s, not Sasha’s.
Then Ally asks Drew why he decided to become a
doctor and Sasha knows where the conversation is
going (Drew should too, but he doesn’t, of course).
“Bernadette” is playing in the background when
they talk about Rob.
Sasha answers all the questions – after all this time,
Drew still doesn’t know how.
But Drew’s even more clueless when he starts to talk
to Lincoln – he almost smiles when Linc talks about
“Supervixen,” but not quite.
Drew whispers to Sasha like the kids can’t hear:
“Should we be encouraging this?” His brow is furrowed, emphasizing the barely-visible lines across
his face (stress lines, not laugh lines). Sasha talks him
down – she always does – but not before she notices Ally listening. Linc is too, but he’s more subtle –
not a difficult feat, with Ally staring blatantly at
Drew (he doesn’t notice).
Sasha raises her voice slightly to end the conversation: “Drew, it’s music.”
So Drew tries – she has to give him credit for trying,
even a little bit – but Lincoln hasn’t even pressed
play on “Rearrange Beds” before Drew snaps and

Lincoln crumbles.
It feels like Sasha is electrified as she leans forward
(she shouldn’t have to explain Lincoln to his own father) and tells Drew just why the pause is important
– he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t know to ask. And
here’s Lincoln sobbing on the picnic table while
Drew just stares at Sasha blankly.
There’s a pause (two seconds, like the one in “Long
Train Runnin’” – one of Lincoln’s favorites).
Then Drew’s jaw tightens as he pulls Lincoln into a
stiff embrace, and Sasha wonders how the two boys
who look so alike could be so different.
She’s not surprised when Lincoln fights his way out
of Drew’s arms. She follows him up to his room
(Drew’s not going to).
The electric anger is still buzzing beneath her skin
when Sasha goes back downstairs. Ally and Drew
are gone – the buzzing intensifies when she realizes
where Drew took her. At least the car is still in the
driveway, after Drew’s two and a half glasses of
gin.
So Sasha just goes back upstairs and puts
“Bernadette” on repeat. She’s lost count when she
hears Drew walking up the stairs – during the pause
she can hear him talking with Lincoln.
She turns up the volume.

This section of Mosaic includes students’ personal essays from the first semester. While many of them were
written for college applications, others were written for Theology and English classes. Each story is unique
and captures the personality of each writer.
Three Syllables
By Dan Do

ble home to a land known mostly through magazines
and newspapers.

Ngu Son Do. Just these three syllables represent a
man, a handicap, a prisoner, a patriot, an immigrant, a
tailor, and my father. On the surface, these adjectives
convey a life story, but for my father, they are more
like a series of flights with unknown arrival times. This
elongated flight took off from the unlit, mud-brick
prison cells of the North Vietnamese. He was captured
as a rebel in 1975 and sentenced to twenty-one years
for unwarranted patriotism. But after seven years of
chewing French bread that could crack walls and
sleeping underneath a leaky ceiling, he and his cellmates boldly escaped that abomination. As boatpeople, they sought the nearest American refugee camp in
the Philippines, their one-way ticket from an inhospita-

In 1987, with his I-94 secured, my father began his
American life in the projects of Bridgeport, Connecticut.
His first job was as an assistant tailor, where he
worked endless hours for a menial five-dollar-an-hour
wage. He was expected by his five other roommates
to pay his monthly share of the one-bedroom apartment that was littered with stained queen-sized beds
and church-donated blankets. Despite the poor living
conditions that were no better than Vietnam's, to live in
America was a blessing, and thus, my father had to
struggle to the limits of his soul and uncover the fight in
his heart to survive. This was my father’s existence until
1990 when he set off for Boston and met my mother.
Five years later, living in a stuffy public housing building in Somerville, I was born. My mother was a stay-athome worker, while my father continued to tailor for
fourteen hours daily to pay the monthly rent and nourish another mouth. For days on end, he drained himself,
visible in his hollowing cheeks and his lifeless face. On
nights when he did come home early just to be with me,
I would cry and ward him off, begging for my mother
because I did not recognize his hands. In 1997, my father mortgaged a house in Lynn, a fearless vision that
established a cornerstone for my future. He unconditionally devoted himself to paying it off.
Years later, my father undertook another financial
commitment: my education. From fifth grade and onwards, my education came at a cost; he worked extra
hours and uneasily charged customers a little more to
pay for my seat in a quality classroom. In return, he
expected to see not B's, but A's within the grade column. It was not easy to satisfy those expectations.
There were long days and nights of drooping eyelids,
bobbing heads, and restless sleeping. But frankly, my
tough days are a fraction of my father's. From losing
his parents to landmines in Vietnam to burning the midnight oil in America, my father’s struggles are nothing
like mine and knowing that inspires me to work.

Qianyi Zhang

Toughness for me stands in three syllables. Ngu Son
Do. The man that I am today is because the man behind me nurtured and molded me with his unforgettable work ethic and his pure courage.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Zen:
to be at Peace
By KJ Sanger

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Snap
By Caleb Nungesser
When thinking about a moment that defines who I am, I
remember a night alone in the woods. There was something powerful about hearing the sharp snap of that
last match that night.

Tonight, I thought, I would treat myself to Ramen, let
the warm noodles cozy up to my shivery jaw, allow the
fire to thaw my toes. With some form of optimism I
army-crawled over to my fire pit and felt around my
The bark was a rigid blanket, formed to the curve of
tin pail for matches. Of course, just one left. O, God of
my back. Pine needles gathered on my chest, floating Matches, deliver me from failure, I thought. I introdown from the warmth above; the sun’s hand brushed duced the waxy red head to a cardboard rectangle,
my folded eyelids. The aroma of charred birch was on and as quickly as they met, my hand forced a schism in
a first-name basis with my pores; the scents of the last the narrow wood.
seven days gleamed beneath my fleece. Today was
Frustration flooded my veins. I heaved the match. Skipthe second day of Solo, a three-day period during my ping rain hit its first leaf. I peered up at the covered
two-week winter group exploration, spent in solitude, moon, and I laughed for the first time in several days.
deep in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. And The shadowy trees lightened my chest; the disconsolate
for the first time, I felt exposed; I forced down the iosky assured me that I was fine. Still me, just matchless,
dine-polluted water, the taste of homesickness.
chewing on raisins in the rain, singing off-pitch to the
The night came quickly, the air angrily swirling around
my rickety tarp, reverberating howls seeping through
the hickory bark. A poorly typed letter from my
mother, smothered with synonyms of the word ‘pride,’
looked different in the moonlight; the thickly pleated
printer paper was out of place in the crippling dark.
The Hershey bar my brother gave me had frozen; my
father’s headlamp had no more light to fight the new
night. I adjusted my tarp hoping that the lonely linear
lambency penetrating the canopy would find my

inky abyss. Completely out of my natural setting, far
from the Boston clubs vibrating with bass, so close to
nothing I knew.
“Everything happens with a reason,
Look at me and the place I be in.”
I sang my lyric to the unknown with a fire in my voice.
This is why I think of the woods: because they humble
you, redesign you, discomfort you—like life. Once the
unfamiliar night comes: embrace, laugh, sing.

Little Pin
By Ximo Xiao
“Hello, little pin,” I murmur softly. “Thanks for being
with me.” It isn’t until I reach into my pencil case and
prick my finger that I see my little pin shining in the
light. Staring at it, memories begin to flood in.

cross that one bridge to get into good colleges, and
the only way to do that is to study extremely hard for
the final exam at the end of senior year. This exam
determines your life.

Maybe it was at the moment I requested with burning
cheeks for the fifth time in broken English, “Can I
Three years ago, I was still the girl who had unrealistic please have a hamburger?” in McDonald’s; or maybe
it was the time I sat alone in the corner during a dance
dreams about coming to America. Every time my
friends and I talked about American high school, all the party; or maybe it was when I forced myself to laugh
visual images from popular American movies came to with others even though I didn’t know what they were
laughing at; or maybe it was when I worked so hard in
mind: teenagers our age partying every day. It
a US history class because I couldn’t tolerate a “B.” In
seemed that American students didn’t have the same
amount of homework we had; their assignments paled these moments I realized how hard I was trying to behave like an American. However, it didn’t matter what I
in comparison to what was expected of us. They
seemed so carefree about getting a perfect SAT score did or how “Americanized” I became, I was still the
same person. I still retained elements of the single-lane
and getting into college.
bridge image which require intensity, hard work, and
Having a Chinese background, I automatically comdiligence.
pare my life in the US to my life back home. If one im“Hello, little pin,” I murmur softly. “Thanks for being
age can vividly describe high school education in
China, it is a single-lane bridge. Everyone is trying to with me.” It still looks as delicate as the day my father
gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday. Chairman
Mao’s bust with a scarlet background is always unobtrusive, about the size of my finger tip. Mao was the
most influential leader in China’s contemporary history.
When my father was eleven, in 1966, the Cultural
Revolution started. At that time, everyone was wearing
pins with Mao’s bust on them to symbolize their approval and protection of Chairman Mao. Although the
end of the revolution led to the destruction of much of
China's traditional cultural heritage and the government required all icons to be handed in, my father still
wanted to keep the pin as an historical relic. As my
father wished to protect me and bring me good luck
while I study abroad, this little pin has always lived in
the same place in my pencil case. Whenever I see it, it
reminds me of home.
The dull pain in my finger disappears like the pin prick
never occurred. Carefully closing the pin back into its
home, I suddenly experience a feeling of release. After so many attempts to fit into a different culture, I
can finally be myself. Being unique and becoming versatile in two civilizations is a gift. Crossing borders and
adapting has given me confidence. Moving forward,
finishing high school in America, and thinking about
four more years of college has helped me to see a
wider bridge.
There have been times when I have ignored the existence of my little pin, but whenever I see it, I know who
I am and that I am not alone.
Temple Spires in Ceramic by Dan Do
Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Lines
By Katie Draper
I trace my fingers down my spine, following a thin scar,
passing over predictable numb spots only I can notice. I
draw lines spot to spot, past to present. This scar is a
part of me; I can’t remember what life was like before
it.
I awoke in a hospital bed, barely conscious. Over me
stood my mom and dad, my view of their faces blurred
from the hours of forced sleep from which I had just
awakened. I smiled and looked up with puffy eyes and
an itchy face. I remember saying, “That wasn’t that
bad,” then being overcome by sleep again. I spent the
next few months healing. I was no longer a victim of
scoliosis, but I still had a long recovery ahead.
Sophomore year – half a year after surgery – I pulled
on my grimy goalie jersey, wiggled my feet into new
socks and cleats, and stepped onto the field. I stood
tall – taller than I’d ever stood. The scent of autumn
filled the air; the wind threw a breath of air into my
face and rustled the leaves around me. The thick, rubber padding of my goalie gloves enveloped my fingers. I took a deep breath and began one of the worst
seasons of soccer I have ever faced. Each practice, I
gave my all. I was ready to play… but I rarely did.
Of 15 games I played only three. The coach was protecting me from hurting myself. My back was delicate,
but I was strong enough to handle it. Each game I came
ready to play, but coach saw this readiness as a

threat. She drew lines from cause to effect, from surgery to weakness, from scar to vulnerability… but she
overlooked what only I could feel.
Recently, a friend went away to basic training for the
army. She returned completely changed. She was a
regular girl who pushed herself into this future, laying
aside her normal civilian life and turning herself into a
soldier. She went through hell and came out alive. It
was inspiring… but also infuriating; I’ve wanted to join
the military since I was a child, constantly “playing soldier” in the thick mud of my back yard. I will never be
allowed this career because of this medical condition I
have been cursed with. I could be the most disciplined
and determined individual with the biggest heart; still,
they will reject me. They will set my limit, but – like my
numb spots – they will never be able to draw that line:
only I can.
Conflicts have made me stronger. My medical condition
alarms some people, and I understand when they think
I can’t do something. However, I know my limitations
like I know the numb spots on my back, and nobody
understands how much I can push myself before I collapse. Scoliosis has made a huge impact in my life,
from before surgery to after. I am a victim of scoliosis,
but I am determined enough to push myself to my own
established limits.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Wait
By Celine Pichette

stand what I did not at the age of eleven. I was defeated.

“Wait! You’re not coming with me?” When I was
eleven, I was dropped off in an African bush village alone. It was planned that I would stay in this village
for three days; I lasted a day. I wish this was a remarkable story, but it is not. It’s humiliating. I cried
every minute I was there. I did not cry due to an overwhelming sadness about the poverty in which these
people were living, and I didn’t cry because of their
suffering; I cried because I was alone. All I saw was
dirt and strangers, and I had no way to communicate
with my parents. I knew that what I should have been
feeling was compassion, but my parents had left me
with people who wanted me to kill a chicken for dinner
that night. The kids wanted me to play soccer with a
ball made out of old tissue paper, in the dirt. In the
morning, the women followed the family male to his
work, and we walked ten kilometers to school. At
eleven, this was not a learning experience; this was
torture.

There are moments when I am still ashamed of my reaction to the village in Zambia, but now I see that the
long-lasting impact of this trip has influenced how I
have navigated my life since then. Since that trip, I
have completed a volunteer work program in Northern
California, a ten-day winter Out Back experience in
New Hampshire’s White Mountains, a summer internship at the Stanford Shumway Surgical Summer Internship Program, a Wilderness First Responder certification course, four cycling centuries, a half marathon, and
a triathlon. Every event has become an opportunity for
me to push myself to overcome my eleven-year old
fears, and to transform my weaknesses into strengths.

Returning home, I could not shake my feelings. No cliché and no documentary about African hunger could
help me adequately frame my experience. I was overwhelmed with a sense of shame and longing to under-

I have been privileged to continue to travel with my
family through Australia and New Zealand, to trek
through Switzerland, and to live in Toyko. But, without
fail, my thoughts always return to my eleven-year-old
trip to Africa. The trip has become my signpost. I am
not scared anymore. Wherever I go, and whatever
circumstances challenge me, I know that while I might
cry again, I won’t be defeated.

friendly sentence brought me back to reality and
made me realize that everything would be okay.

Chance Wright

I Believe in Not Taking Life for Granted
By Reed Carpenter
I was confused, my thoughts empty and scattered. I
was also in pain. Blood was running down my leg and
my chest was heaving as I struggled to find my
breath. I felt my distress and pain drift away as I
sunk forward, no longer supported. A continuous
pounding in my ears and the worried cries of a
woman pulled me away from my tranquility. Suddenly the air cleared and I was guided to my
feet, staggering for a few steps before I found
myself. I was alive. I had survived a head-on collision at forty miles per hour.
I sat on the side of the road, confused, shocked,
and filled with disbelief as the crowd of spectators began to grow. The constant throb in my
head, the soreness in my chest, the blood running
down my leg, none of it mattered. I was alive. I
was taken to the E.R. in an ambulance as a precaution, and as I lay on the gurney, staring into
the bright white light above me with the subtle
beep of the heart rate monitor in the background,
I was scared and lonely. The paramedic put his
hand on my shoulder and told me, “Don’t worry,
I’ll make sure you get a pretty nurse,” and
laughed. Though this might seem stupid, his words
meant the world to me at the time; that simple

As I lay in my hospital bed, with my family at my
side, I had a sudden realization. I had come
within inches of death and walked away with
only bruises and a few stitches. I was overwhelmed by a rush of worries and questions, but
at the same time an incredible sense of relief and
happiness. All of a sudden, I appreciated everything. I realized how fortunate I was; not only
was I still alive, but I was fortunate to have the
life that I have. At the same time, as morbid as it
sounds, I found myself asking, “What if I had
died?” I thought of all of the things I had yet to
do and all of the people that I had yet to meet.
There have been too many times that I have been
too lazy to do something, saying, “Maybe later,”
or, “I’ll do it tomorrow.” But what if there is no
later or tomorrow? I think that most people, myself included, don’t truly appreciate everything
that we have until we are put in a situation where
those things are threatened.
I thought a lot during the few days after my accident.
I thought about everything I had done and everything
that I was going to do; but they all seemed unimportant. I promised myself that from that moment on,
there would be no more “Maybe later” or “I’ll do it
tomorrow”; I would live life in the present and make
the most out of every opportunity and experience. I
believe in not taking life for granted.

Chance Wright

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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First Memory (Writing)
and
Current Parallel Experience (Visual)
Photography I

First Visual Memory
By Christian Bladon

Soon, each crayon had taken on the same haggard
look, each a soldier being pushed and worn down.
Even the pristine, new crayons, recently added to the
Sitting on the floor, barely a toddler, I stared at a
blank piece of paper, waiting for my imagination to platoon, began to look torn and sloppy—each label
spill onto its insultingly barren surface. To my right ripped and each tip worn to nothing more than a
was an opaque bowl filled with crayons, a mixture of smooth head. Although the white of the paper had
freshly bought and age-worn slivers of color. Loom- disappeared, in its place resided an unsatisfying mess
ing nearby stood the great refrigerator, a white behe- of random colors, overlapping each other in a dark,
shapeless void of brackish brown.
moth that seemed even bigger on the inside. That
day, I had worn a royal blue and white striped shirt, Despairing at what had become of my canvas of
damp and darker in some spots due to the wretched creativity, I failed to notice the ever-nurturing presence of my mother, her shadow falling across my
heat.
My hand reached into the bin, enclosing itself upon a unwavering face. Flash. The sudden burst of white
crayon, a crimson color soon to be transformed into a roused me to finally notice her and the small camera
long streak across the page’s center. A tumult of dif- she held pointed at me.
ferent colors followed, each successive color as different as the last. The naked white soon gave way to
the chaotic scribbling of a 4-year-old me, trying in
vain to bring some faded image into reality.

“What a lovely picture,” was all she said as she tenderly picked up the paper and placed it on the fridge,
holding it up with nothing but a small block of dark
metal.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Later I discovered that I had a
giant fear of the
tooth fairy.
- Allie Solms

- Eliana Mallory

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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I lifted my arms in anticipation
and just like that I was free.
- Hailee Grisham

First Memory
and
Current Parallel
Experience
(Continued)

Engraved in the fabric of my mind. - Caroline Plante

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Tree Series
By Greta Davis

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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This fall, senior Fabián Štoček, under the guidance of photography teacher Franz Nicolay, worked on an
independent project in which he hung five masks around campus and created an interactive exhibition. Fabian gave names to each mask and used fluorescent paint to provide them with expression and meaning. Jim
hung from a tree near Alfond Library, while Hati hung near the entrance to the school across the road from
the Head of School's house. Kuma hung out on Southside, and Malick watched students pass by from a tree
between Weld Dining Hall and Connell Dormitory. The last mask, Hilbert, observed life behind Carpenter.
Later in the semester, Fabián created a display in Carpenter and gave students a chance to react to his project. On this page and the next are photographs and descriptions of just two of the masks.
Blind Minds
By Fabián Štoček
At the beginning of the year, I wrote a proposal to the
Academic Committee and requested permission to conduct an independent study in the field of art. One of
my main goals for the study was to create art that
would influence the environment and that the environment could influence. In an attempt to break community
members away from their everyday routines, I wanted
to get them to think about something else, something
outside of its usual bubble.
New Hampshire has one of the most densely forested
areas in the US. Trees live for hundreds of year, especially at Holderness School. Can you imagine how much

the trees in front of Schoolhouse have lived through?
How many students have they seen and how many
walkbacks have they witnessed? How many experiences and feelings are piled up inside of them? And
yet, they do not have any way to express themselves;
only the breezy wind can help them talk with their
branches. But even this kind of communication is like
whispering into the dark with only moths listening. The
trees have little chance to influence the lives around
them. However, I believe trees have a true spirit, so I
decided for the first project of my independent study
to give the trees a way to express themselves. I gave
them a communicative device they could use to influence the environment and show how they feel after a
lifetime of silence. Below are their reflections.

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Name: Jim
Position: Alfond Library
Basic characteristics of the tree and the environment: Studious, relaxed, fun, communal
Description of the painted layer: Glasses, light
bulb, coffee mug, music notes, spiral, beard
Intended artistic influence: Reflects how we combine relaxed studying with fun. It is an image of the
usual Holder night—two hours of listening to music,
studying, thinking, conspiring, coming up with solutions. Sometimes we choose to socialize and do not
always gear towards productivity.
Student Reactions: “It’s funny to connect ‘relaxed’
studying with fun. I guess when people see him, he
can be our motivation for ideas/solutions. He looks
good.”

Name: Hilbert
Position: Behind Carpenter
Basic characteristics of the tree and the environment:
Playful, creative, mystical with complementary expressions—Yin and Yang
Description of the painted layer: Highlighted mouth and
eyebrows, curly hair, machine head, document, polka
dots
Intended artistic influence: Realize that two sides of the
life equation are important for living in equilibrium. The
yin and yang. Study hard yet entertain yourself in order
to refresh your thoughts. Try to use the right side of the
brain as much as you use the left. The balance—of food,
academics, athletics, arts, and socializing—is an everyday struggle for Holderness students. We are always
forced to make compromises with associated costs. It is a
challenge to face this equation and be able to solve it
effectively every single day.
Student Reactions:
“I find this slightly frightening.”
“The one-eye-open, one-eye-closed concept really does
well in illustrating the yin-yang balance.”

This fall several junior classes read Shakespeare’s classic story Hamlet. In addition to discussing the play and
acting out scenes in class, students were also asked to read analytical essays written by Shakespearean
scholars and to recreate certain important scenes in cartoon format. On the following pages, you will find a
couple interpretations of the text in cartoon and essay form.

Act 4, Scene 1: Gertrude tells Claudius that Hamlet has killed Polonius!
Claudius insists that they must send Hamlet to England to save him and
get him away from Denmark.

Act 4, Scene 1: Now that Claudius has a reason to send Hamlet away,
he starts scheming about Hamlet's fate. Everything is falling into
place!

Act 4, Scene 2: After Hamlet disposes of Polonius's body, Rosencrantz
and Guildenstern arrive and ask Hamlet what he has done with Polonius's body. Hamlet responds with smart-aleck remarks that confuse
them both. He then accuses them of being spies for Claudius. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern then take Hamlet to see Claudius.

Act 4, Scene 4: On his way to invade another country, Prince
Fortinbras asks his captains to ask the king for permission to cross
his land. Hamlet, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern come across his
path on their way to leave for England. After having a conversation
with the captain, Hamlet decides he must be more vengeful.

Act 4, Scene 5: Meanwhile, Horatio and Gertrude talk to Ophelia. They
believe that she has gone mad because of her father's death. She then
sings songs to them about her feelings.

Act 4, Scene 5: After Horatio and Ophelia leave, Claudius talks to
Gertrude about how he feels bad for her, but more importantly he
hopes that Laertes will not blame them for the death of his father.

Act 4, Scene 6: Horatio receives a message from Hamlet. He says in
his message that pirates attacked his ship, and he has returned to Denmark alone.

Act 4, Scene 7: Claudius and Laertes decide they will both try to kill Hamlet and begin plotting
together. They agree that they will kill Hamlet during a fencing match in which Laertes will be his
opponent. If Laertes does not kill him during the match, Claudius will poison him with a glass of
tainted wine.

And perhaps Sophocles before Shakespeare. Freud
was the first to blatantly idenify the “Oedipus comMarjorie Garber critiques Hamlet and a Freudian hy- plex” of a puerile mind. Yet, like Sophocles, Shakespeare reveals the “complex” through a play. And in
pothesis of Hamlet in her book Shakespeare After All.
Throughout her book, Garber makes her own hypothe- both, the latency of the desire provides the surprise, or
the confusion. Oedipus gouges his own eyes out upon
ses, one of which describes a technique of Shakediscovering what he has done, and Hamlet cannot
speare’s that she coins “splitting,” in which different
bring himself to kill Claudius for reasons he cannot figaspects of a person are broken apart into different
characters. She draws on a critique of Hamlet offered ure out:
by Sigmund Freud and his disciple, Ernest Jones, which
Yet I, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
describes Hamlet not to be unlike Oedipus Rex.
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Freud’s “Oedipus complex” is a rather well-known psyUpon whose property and most dear life
choanalysis of Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, who mistakenly
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? (2.2 558)
kills his father and has his mother. Freud concludes that
in every boy there is a latent sexual attraction to his
mother and a desire to kill his father. Freud and Jones
answer the question, “Why does Hamlet delay?” with
the notion that he admires Claudius, for he has done
what Hamlet cannot—murder King Hamlet and marry
Queen Gertrude. “He hath killed my king, and whored
my mother,” Hamlet says. The next line sets Freud up
perfectly: “[he hath] popped in between th’ election
and my hopes” (5.2 70). And here Freud seems correct. Hamlet slips, revealing his latent desires—ones
that perhaps even he did not know. Only when he tries
to describe what he feels to his only true friend, Horatio, does the truth reveal itself—to the audience and to
Hamlet. Therefore, “How can [Hamlet] kill Claudius for
acting on desires that Hamlet himself has had?” suggests Garber.
If he is not making a simple allusion to Sophocles, perhaps Shakespeare figured out the truth before Freud.

The latency is perhaps the most interesting aspect of
the “complex.” To have your own mother, and to kill
your own father, are things so unfathomable that no
one can even admit them or think consciously about
them.
Hamlet is supposed to hate Claudius. He wants to hate
Claudius. He does hate Claudius, but he cannot kill him.
Hamlet sees himself in Claudius, but does not know
why. He does not know that he wanted to have his
mother, or that he wanted to kill his father. Of course,
if his father—the king—is dead, and if his mother—the
queen—was his wife, who but Hamlet would be king?
However, Claudius beats him to it, and Hamlet cannot
kill him for that. Hamlet has not only lost his father, but
he has lost his chance, he has lost his mother, he has lost
Ophelia; he has no more to lose. His latent “hopes” are
revealed to himself, and to Horatio, and to us.

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Photographs of Yellowstone and Badlands National Parks by Connor Marien

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In another endeavor to understand Shakespeare, Lea Rice, who is in Mr. Durnan’s AP Composition class, began by
changing the font of the text to show instances of emphasis, parallelism, and other stylistic techniques. Lea then followed her graphic understanding of the poem with an analytical essay.

Henry V
Act 2, Scene 2, Final Stanza

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Analysis of Henry V
By Lea Rice
A leader is resolute. A leader recognizes an undertaking’s fallibility but chooses to pursue the favorable
outcome when it is possible. Strong leaders possess a
prudent confidence that, if they have the skill, determination, and an achievable goal, they cannot and
will not be hindered. When Henry V learns that some
of his closest nobles have betrayed him, he doesn’t
falter for a moment. He instead faces them, one of
whom is his cousin, in a gesture that displays dignity
and grace. His reaction to their convictions of treason
is imperative at a time when his country stands on the
precipice of a war with France, and Shakespeare
looks to build anticipation in this pivotal moment in
the play. To insinuate uncertainty could be disastrous
for their prospects. Henry’s words following the departure of the traitors affirm his confidence in victory
over France, citing God as an ally and appealing to
the nationalism of the British, all the while relating
himself to the common people.
When Shakespeare writes that one of his characters
invokes God as a supporter, it is with the knowledge
that both the people Henry V would have spoken to,
and the audience of 1600, value religion above
much in their lives. To suggest that God was on their
side would not have been unusual for the Shakespearean time period, given the crusades and the
Spanish Inquisition that took place in the preceding
centuries, but it would nonetheless have been very
powerful. God’s divinity was practically unquestionable, and when monarchs such as Henry V were still
believed to trace their power to God Himself,
Henry’s words about the deity would have carried
even more weight. First, Henry portrays God as England’s gracious savior who has uncovered the traitors.
This perpetuates God’s omnipotence and is an example of how He has already favored the British. Henry
then goes on to urge them to deliver their “puissance
into the hand of God.” This encouragement depicts
God as a mighty power to whom they can trust their
strength, validating his earlier claim that it would be
a “fair and lucky war” because God was helping
them.

ters in Shakespeare, a reflection of the English’s low
opinion of the French. Henry begins, “Now, lords, for
France…” in a statement that implies that France is
easily conquered. France and England have long
stared each other down across the narrow English
Channel. Two of the greatest powers in Europe for
the better part of modern civilization, they have been
both rivals and allies. At the time that Henry V delivers his remarks, the relationship between England
and France is undergoing an interesting transformation. England and France had previously been synonymous, two territories governed as one. Henry’s
speech, however, is advocating the invasion of France
in order to maintain the English king’s right to govern
France as well. The closing line, “No king of England,
if not king of France,” summarizes the English desire
to continue to control France, and powerfully communicates the desire for supremacy over the French.
Using a technique popular with many politicians,
Henry indicates throughout the passage that he relates to the common man. The most prevalent and
subtle way that he does this is to invoke the use of the
word “us.” Referring to the invasion itself, Henry
urges his subjects, “let us deliver our puissance.” This
would depict the war to be a communal effort, in
which everyone must contribute their strengths. Henry
uses this method of uniting the people not only when
addressing the conquest of France, but its outcome as
well. He speaks of victory over France by saying that
it will be “to you, as us, like glorious.” This choice of
words asserts that a victory for him will be a victory
for the people as well. Henry’s more obvious tool of
persuasion is his use of the word “countrymen.” Countrymen stand together, united by a common love for
their nation. Countrymen will fight for their people’s
best interests. Knowing this, Henry addresses his
“dear countrymen” in an effort to convince them that
the fight for France is a collective endeavor that they
should partake in and succeed in. United by not only
this, but by their hatred of France and trust in God,
Henry’s audience would believe the conquest of
France to be not only possible but necessary.

To appeal to British nationalism is not only to bolster
England, but also to put down France. Henry succeeds
in both of these tasks, which would have elicited a
favorable response not only in the fifth century setting in which he speaks, but in the Globe Theater as
well. The French are portrayed as humorous charac-

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Watercolors
By Jingyi Wu

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org

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Tranquility
By Steven Wilk II

Deeper and deeper I nestle myself in the snow.
I breath in, I breath out. I listen to the wind blow.
The sun’s rays shine upon it, gleaming fluorescent light.
I look around, nothing surrounding me, left nor right.
Looking above into the sky, the white clouds in sight.
I dream of being high, well above the clouds in flight.
Closing my eyes, thinking of the possibility.
I open my eyes, blinking, complete, with tranquility.
The wind stops, and I am refreshed by the silent peace.
I’m at rest, and I am unstressed, free of any concern.
Trying to recollect my thoughts, I think of the past.
I am circumspect, cautious to bring back memories.
My body is numb, but the snow is only comforting.
My mind, not my body, is what is suffering.
I forget both, and I let my spirit take over.
I’m blocked from the world, surrounded by this enclosure.
I inhale the winter air through my nose, cool and clear.
Hearing the coyotes howl, with only modest fear.
Resting in peace with only the spirit of nature.
Alone, I am. Only searching for a simple answer.
I ask why? I’m only looking for my remedy.
At this point, I wonder: is it safe to be carefree?
My mind is shattered, and my body is paralyzed.
My spirit, the single part, is keeping me alive.
At once, in peace, I close my eyes and begin to breath.
Cycling the air. Dreaming. I’m finally able to relieve.
My breaths get deeper and deeper. I’m at equilibrium.
I forget everything, and I fade away in peace.